"That nothing has been found missing--"

"And that the fastenings to the house were all found secure this
morning; just so."

"He did not tell me that. In that case"--and I shuddered--"the
murderer must have been in the house all night."

Mr. Gryce smiled darkly at the door-knob.

"It has a dreadful look!" I exclaimed.

Mr. Gryce immediately frowned at the door-knob.

And here let me say that Mr. Gryce, the detective, was not the thin,
wiry individual with the piercing eye you are doubtless expecting to
see. On the contrary, Mr. Gryce was a portly, comfortable personage
with an eye that never pierced, that did not even rest on _you._
If it rested anywhere, it was always on some insignificant object in
the vicinity, some vase, inkstand, book, or button. These things he
would seem to take into his confidence, make the repositories of his
conclusions; but as for you--you might as well be the steeple on
Trinity Church, for all connection you ever appeared to have with him
or his thoughts. At present, then, Mr. Gryce was, as I have already
suggested, on intimate terms with the door-knob.

"A dreadful look," I repeated.

His eye shifted to the button on my sleeve.